I never thought the worst day of my life would come. At least, not so quickly. But here it is.
I used to be normal. I used to wake up in the morning, still tired, to eat breakfast and go to school. I used to be forced to do homework when I got home. I used to hang out with my friends and play video games and watch TV all the time. I used to go to waterparks and arcades.
I used to be happy. Not anymore. Now there's a war. And I have to fight in it.
My name is Seth Gardina. I'm sixteen. I was a freshman in high school, until the agency started pulling kids out to fight in the War. My birthday is in two weeks, June 19th, and I'm going to spend it fighting. I hate this life. I was taken from home to a training facility in the outer Wisconsin, where I had to spend two years training to fight this war. I'm willing to fight for my country, but I hate that I'm being forced and there's no way out of it. If only Singapore hadn't attacked us. If only they'd stayed within the boundary lines. If only they hadn't crossed over. If only. But they did. So we fight.
Personally, I find this all ridiculous. Why can't Singapore just say sorry, shake hands, and let everyone get on with our lives? Because the United States army leader, Samuel R. Curry, is melodramatic. He tells us all what to do, and we have to do it, because rebellion would surely get us all killed. War is going to the extremes. I don't judge Curry, because they did attack us, but I hate war. It seems like there's a lot of them these days. It's because of the Outbreak, back in 2017. When all the major wars broke out. Russia against Europe. Afghanistan against New Zealand. France against Japan. And the U.S. against Singapore. The worst part was the alliances. Each country on either side had joined together to beat the others. It's the Advance: U.S., France, New Zealand, and Europe against the Defense: Russia, Afghanistan, Japan, and Singapore. And then France betrayed us, then lost against Japan. I was only twelve then, and even then was I hoping this would all end. But frankly, back then I didn't really need to worry about it. Now I do.
Life in District 42 isn't all peaches and cream. You wake up at 3 in the morning, report to roll call, then go straight to the training terrain to practice shooting. You only eat twice a day, and the food isn't much or at all edible. I have three close friends, despite one of the rules: trust no one. Their names are Kendall Greystone, James Succiot, and Belle Tavera. James found me first, the day I got here. He's in my dorm, as well as a guy named Laurent, and he's liked me from the beginning. He's really laid back when our Sargeant isn't parolling the place like we're criminals. Kendall doesn't take much seriously, and when we take roll call, he always snickers at the guy before him's last name, Grejune. And, of course, that earns him thirty push-ups. They're like the brothers I never had. Belle is really cool, and funny, and despite her size, she's quite strong, too. Not to mention pretty...
I'd recently broken my arm when we had an emergency attack drill last month. It's like the fire drills we used to have in grade school, but instead, the officers would take fifteen of us and put us in the terrain with fifteen other armymen and have a fake-attack. I was one of the 'lucky' randomly chosen cadets that had to fight. Kendall was there to take care of me until I was stable. James was there, too, when he could be there, but he'd ranked up by then, and was frequently busy. I'd seen him every night though, back in the dorms. During the day, I had to stay back to learn recitations and rules and how to read and create plans instead of practicing because an injured soldier wasn't allowed to do hand-to-hand combat. But other than that, Kendall wouldn't leave my side for anything. Until today. The worst day of my life.
He'd been called for an attack drill. The fake fight. Only it wasn't fake. Real guns, real blood, real bones. Real death. The news shocked me probably as much as it shocked James, but much more than it shocked anyone else. Kendall is dead.
